


Underestimated

by CosmicRooibos (MurasakiDoku)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Major Character Death (Sort of), Role Swap, aka roadhog is a healer and junkrat is a tank, jamie being socially awkward as fuck, mako being aloof as fuck, post-overwatch alternate universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 03:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15572394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurasakiDoku/pseuds/CosmicRooibos
Summary: Neither Dr. Mako Rutledge nor ex-villain Jamison Fawkes look like the stereotypical representations of their respective roles in the Valeguard. Nonetheless, assuming that they were unable to do their job because of that would be a fatal mistake.





	Underestimated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArmsShanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsShanks/gifts), [WodensSkadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WodensSkadi/gifts).



> My entry for our Discord group's summer fic exchange, featuring prompts supplied -
> 
> Shanks: "Support!Hog AU"  
> Skadi: "Rescue/Save"

_At the very moment when people underestimate you is when you can make a breakthrough._

— Germany Kent

* * *

 

“ _ That’s _ the new guy?”

“Yep. That’s him. The new front-liner.”

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me. It looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over.”

Dr. Rutledge walks past two ensigns standing in front of a display port that allows viewing of the digistruct training room. He’s on his way to the break room, since his patient was grossly late to his appointment, but when he remembers that his patient was scheduled to have an initiation physical -- required for all new members -- he stops cold in his tracks.

With a voice deep enough to make rubble out of concrete, he turns around and asks: “The Special Ops recruit?”

Both ensigns jump at being so suddenly addressed, even though the Doctor’s footfalls were loud enough to be heard a mile away. They both snap to attention and salute, and Rutledge waves them off.

“Yessir,” one of them finally answers. Rutledge takes a stride forward, towering over both of them to look out of the viewport.

The kid is thin, blonde, and a double amputee. Not much of this is  _ immediately _ noticeable, on account of him currently wearing kendo  _ gi _ in his simulated sparring environment. Currently, his opponent is kicking his ass and not helping make a great first impression on anyone who might be passing by. He really should turn down the difficulty.

Rutledge pulls out the clipboard he had tucked under his arm and looks through the paperwork he’d been given. The handwriting is not exactly refined, but clearly legible, and what information he has matches the man in the sim room. The doctor puts down his clipboard and presses a button on the intercom.

“Are you Jamison Fawkes?”

The man yelps and physically jumps at the sudden voice booming overhead. It distracts him enough that the simulation robot’s  _ bo _ staff strikes him square on the head, causing him to fall down face-first into the mat.

“Y-yeah, that’s me!” he manages to respond, stuttered through his whiplash.

“You had an appointment with the ship’s doctor fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh, shit, yer right!” Jamison jumps back on his feet. “End simulation!” he yells, and the robot and training floor disappear and revert to a basic and massive rectangular room decorated in nothing but gridlines. He runs up to the door and opens it, and as soon as it slides open he takes a wide stride as if to start running, but immediately stops when he’s met with his uninvited audience standing outside. The two ensigns balk at how far they have to look up in order to actually look at him, while the Doctor, dressed in his lab coat and eerily black, pig-shaped mask stares  _ down _ at him.

“Uh, hi,” Jamison says with a wave to all of them, then looks specifically at Rutledge. “...Are you the doctor I was supposed ta see?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, mate, I’m sorry that ya had ta hunt me down, I tend ta forget--can we do it now? Is that okay?” He gives an exceptionally awkward smile. Rutledge didn’t care enough to actually hunt him down, but cares even less to bother correcting him.

“It’s fine. Follow me.”

Dr. Rutledge leads the way back from where he came, with Jamison Fawkes keeping a limping stride behind him, chattering the whole way.

“So, uh, my name’s Jamison Fawkes but you already knew that, haha...what’s yours?”

“Doctor Mako Rutledge.”

“Pleasure ta meet ya, doc! I’m real tempted ta ask ya what’s up with that weird mask but given how this part of the world is all about secret identities and running double lives I’m gonna bet the rest of my limbs ya ain’t gonna tell me, so I’m not gonna. I mean I was kinda doing the same back when, that whole “Dr. Boom” thing, right? But that’s all behind me. Especially now that I’m faced with someone that actually  _ has _ a doctorates, hahaha! I tried, ya know, but me and school, we don’t exactly get along, and I think that’s kinda why I did what I was doing. Dropped out of school, got real mad at the  _ establishment _ , took things into my own hands but, like I said, that’s all behind me now. I’m real glad someone reached out ta me because I’ve always wanted ta go legit, ya know, savin’ peoples’ lives and stuff. I wanted to do things that mattered, it’s just...they don’t give a whole lot of options to the supers that came up from the slums, ya know? Gotta get out there, make a name for yourself, PR campaign, transportation if that isn’t your supe to begin with, all that shit costs money--”

The doctor lets him ramble without protest. When they get to the med bay, Rutledge points to a smock draped over the exam table. “Opens in the front,” is the only instruction he gives the other, managing to find the opportunity only when he stops for breath before hiding behind a cloth divider. Given that Rutledge hasn’t cut them off, Jamison invites himself to continue rambling.

Rutledge doesn’t come out from behind the divider again until it seems like Jamison’s tirade has finally finished. He sits upright on the exam bed, swinging his legs back and forth with his hands in his lap.

“Let’s take your height and weight,” Rutledge says, and Jamison hops off the bed, following Rutledge to lead him to a wall where he brings down a metal handle, getting a digital readout on his height: six foot six, then leads him over to a scale.

“With or without the prosthetics?” Jamison asks. Rutledge considers it for a moment and decides that it would be better to have a baseline of his actual, biological weight.

“Without. Provided you’re comfortable with that.”

Jamison shrugs, already working on undoing his arm. “Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Just don’t let me fall.”

“Mm.” Rutledge holds out a hand once Jamie undoes his leg prosthetic and reaches out for balance. He steps up on the scale and when Rutledge is sure that the other isn’t going to fall over, he pulls his hand away just a few inches, long enough for the scale to measure. The number that results, even after accounting for a good thirty pounds that Jamison’s limbs would be, indicate that he’s pretty solidly underweight. The voice in the back of the doctor’s mind says  _ I could’ve told you that, _ as he helps Jamie step down from the scale and provide a counterbalance while he puts himself back together.

“Stand by the exam table,” the doctor instructs as he gets out a box of nitrile gloves. He pulls two on -- and despite being extra extra large, they fit him tightly enough so that his hand is visible through it. He lathers up a finger with lube and Jamison immediately knows where this is going. He’s put off a proper medical exam for long enough, it was only inevitable that time was running out...but it’s not because he’s timid about getting fingered. It’s that he fears the inevitable awkwardness that would follow.

He distracts himself by looking around at the rest of the clinic, trying to figure out the intent or purpose of everything within sight. His anxiety is palpable, causing Rutledge to roll his eyes hard enough that it would be obvious even through his mask. He’s fingered his way through countless cases of fragile masculinity that it doesn’t necessarily surprise him any more, it just gets exhaustingly tedious.

“Turn your head and cough.”

When he does, he catches sight of an alabaster suit of flight-armor in his peripheral. Jamison lets out a soft gasp as he’s released.

“Is that your valkyrie suit?” Fawkes asks excitedly, as he turns to the doctor in progress of throwing out his spent gloves. He grunts in affirmative.

“That’s awesome,” he says, awed. “I can only imagine what it’s like to see a guy like you in flight.”

Mako lets out a labored sigh and prepares to hear the sentiment he’s heard time and time again, but it doesn’t deter Jamison.

“I mean, the propaganda they put everywhere, they’re always skinny little youthful women. I mean, sure, they’re cute and all, in that “tight pencil skirt and white hat” kind of way, but like--you’re the  _ real deal, _ mate.”

Mako turns his head and stares at the other for a long, silent moment. It’s not at all what he was expecting to hear. Jamison stares back for a while, as if he’s expecting Mako to carry his end of the conversation, but speaks up when it’s clear that’s not going to happen: “Am I gonna get the chance to see you out there in action?”

“Inevitably.”

Jamison’s eyes light up with stars. “I can’t wait!”

The doctor, frankly, finds his enthusiasm off-putting, yet refreshingly genuine. He tells himself it’s just a newbie’s honeymoon stage, but even that doesn’t seem to explain it.

“Take a seat on the table.” 

Obediently, Jamison places his hands behind him against the surface of the exam table and hoists himself up to take a seat. Rutledge checks out his ears, nostrils, and mouth, taking a note of his gold teeth before instructing him to lay down. As his thick fingers palpate into Jamison’s abdomen to check his organs, Jamison sticks out his tongue in response to pressure as if he were some sort of comical stress toy.

Despite himself, Rutledge smiles silently behind his mask.

“Alright,” he says, taking a step back. “Everything checks out. You can go change.”

“Cheers Doc,” he says as he hops off the bed. Mako returns behind a privacy curtain to double-check and update Fawkes’s medical profile.

“Do you want to discuss any changes to your prescriptions?” Mako calls out as he goes through the list.

“Nah, they’re fine. I got about a week’s worth of all three of them.”

The doctor inputs a request for a helicopter delivery refill on each. By the time he’s finished his digital paperwork, the clinic has been silent for some time -- he figures that Fawkes left on his own at some point without announcing it. As he closes down his station for this session, he almost startles as the words come out of his mouth.

“Hey. Doc…”

Mako looks up and spots Jamison standing at the edge of the partition, dressed in his  _ gi  _ again. His prosthetic picks at the fabric attaching the privacy curtain to the frame, and the look on his face is almost timid, even with his smile.

“I just wanted to say thanks.”

“What for?”

“Bein’ nice ta me.”

Mako arches an unseen brow, presenting nothing but a blank mask stare and silence. Jamison fidgets more, casting his eyes towards the floor.

“Y’see, some people on this ship know that I used ta be a villain, and they kinda make it obvious that they don’t think a bloke can turn over a new leaf…and even the people that  _ don’t _ know my past know that I’m a tank, and...I mean--” he chuckles awkwardly, “--I guess I can’t really blame them for not believing it, just look at me! But they act like I gotta prove it for them, and that’s...tough, ya know?”

He shrugs. “I guess what I’m sayin’ is….thanks fer treatin’ me like I don’t have ta earn yer trust.”

Mako isn’t quite sure what to say. He wasn’t treating Jamison any differently than he’d treat anyone else, but...he supposes that’s what he’s trying to say.

“Anyway, I just wanted ta say that, so, uh--I’ll be headed out now,” Jamison hurries out when he realizes that the doctor isn’t going to give him much of a response, then turns on his heels and heads out the door. The split second before he’s truly out of sight, Mako finally speaks up.

“Fawkes.”

Jamison stops in his tracks and looks behind him. There’s a long pause before Mako continues speaking; he’s always had trouble with words, and part of him wishes Angela was here to say it for him. That’s why he had no choice in becoming a doctor for supes: truly terrible bed manner that would never fly anywhere else.

But Jamison doesn’t mind waiting for him to find the words. He simply stands in place, looking like a deer in headlights, not moving or speaking for fear of distracting Mako from what he was going to say.

“...I eat dinner on the upper level dining hall at 8,” he finally gets out. “You are welcome to join me.”

Jamison’s expression immediately lights up and he salutes to the doctor. “You got it!”

As he turns to leave, Mako smiles to himself. He really ought to tell Jamison that he doesn’t need to salute, since they’re both of the same rank, but…

Something tells him that he already knows.

Over the next few days, despite their conflicting schedules, they manage to share that 8-o-clock time slot for food. Jamie tries to spend a lot of time doodling ideas for improvements to his prosthetics. In the process, Mako learns that Jamie’s power is the ability to manipulate air pressure, which he uses to create invisible, impenetrable shields or reducing the impact of blows (though he prefers making things explode). Jamie never asks what Mako’s power is, despite the fact that he converses wildly, sometimes for solid minutes without Mako actually saying anything.  _ He _ spends more time feeding himself and trying to get Jamie to eat -- and the most success he’s had is to stab Jamie’s food with his fork and hold it in front of Jamie to eat, which he does only because it gets in the way of his talking.

One of the reasons Mako chooses to eat so late is because the dining hall is often empty, but not always. The two of them have gotten odd looks for hand-feeding in public, but Mako is too aloof and Jamie is too preoccupied for either of them to notice or care.

Jamie starts complaining about the lack of missions here and there, and eventually his prayers are answered. The two of them sit beside each other as the team’s assigned Front-Liner and Medic, along with the three Operatives. Jamie is beaming, barely able to sit still with his excitement, which only serves to unnerve the others.

“Jamie,” the doctor says, fully decked out in his Valkyrie suit and trying to put on his best attempt at whispering. “You’re freaking out the team. Calm down.”

“What? Why?” Jamison asks, much better at whispering than Mako.

“It’s always life or death out there. They need to know that the person meant to protect them is taking this seriously.”

Jamie frowns. While Mako is dressed in alabaster, gold, and black, Jamie is dressed in blacks, silvers, and color-changing accents, like armor pieces taken from the medieval ages and put through a cyberpunk catsuit filter. “I can have fun  _ and _ take it seriously at the same time…”

“You can,” Mako agrees. “But you should show the serious part too.”

Jamison has always struggled with taking orders -- the epitome of the kind of person that hated being in a hierarchy -- so being presented with “do this” instead of “don’t do this” causes him to seriously consider Mako’s words. With a deep breath, he eases out the bouncing of his leg 

“That’s better,” Mako says.

A few minutes later, their drop ship docks on the cliffs of Watchpoint Gibraltar. It’s a once functional and productive scientific development and space exploration hub, but it’s given away to time and disuse due to the fall of Overwatch -- the spiritual precursor to Valeguard. It, apparently, did not go forgotten; an Omnic independence group moved in and integrated with the old technology, which wasn’t that much of a concern...until they got radicalized. They’ve kidnapped a high-ranking American politician to hold as a bargaining chip for a ransom, and before the Valeguard can rescue him...they need to find out where he’s being kept.

Jamie is the first to get off the ship, followed by Jack, Sombra and Amélie. He turns to look back just in time to catch Doctor Rutledge step onto solid ground, clad in his form-fitting Valkyrie suit with battle-tattered draping gold fabric. His wings unfurl from his lower back, yellow holo-feathers materializing in the process and sending a gust of wind at everyone’s feet. It’s the most inspiring thing he’s ever seen.

“Fawkes,” the Captain Amélie calls out after scoping out the area. “I’ve decided on a nest.”

He’s immediately back to attention and nods. The two of them break off so that she can set up safely. Once he’s sure that she’s good--after giving him a thumbs up--he returns to the rest of the crew.

“Amélie says we should go through the west corridor,” he says when he returns to them. “Less guarded that way.”

The two ops nod in understanding. “Lead the way,” one of them says, and he does -- while the doctor takes the rear. It takes a while for them to actually run into any opposition, but when they do, Fawkes performs with swiftness, accuracy, and most importantly, a focus that remains trained until the split-second that it’s needed somewhere else. Both of the ops are able to cut their way through attacking Omnics as if standing in plain view; their opponents’ fire unable to get through a solid invisible wall of air, while their own ammunition flies through as if it weren’t there at all.

It’s a workout for Fawkes, and Mako can tell. He doesn’t know if Fawkes  _ really  _ has to apply the forceful gestures he’s doing to actually use his powers, but the active style of fighting seems to suit him, like a practiced martial art. He holds out his arms with his hands perpendicular to the floor in order to create air shields, throws out an open hand to blast a large number of Omnics away from the ops to gain control of tactical areas, flicks his finger like knocking a bug out of the air to apply a carefully measured blow to a single target.

There’s a lull in the fighting when they secure a server room. Sombra sets up at the computer console to hack the system, and Fawkes -- the only one on the team slightly out of breath at this point -- tries to casually lean against a server tower next to Mako.

“So,” he says through his mild panting, smirking all the while,  “have I been making your job easier?”

The truth is that Mako hasn’t had to heal a single person since they landed. He smirks behind his mask, leaning his hooked caduceus staff on his shoulder.

“Immensely,” he responds. “If you keep this up, I may not need to come on future missions.”

Before Jamie can stop himself from doing so, he immediately pouts. Mako allows himself to audibly chuckle.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be paired together for the foreseeable future.”

Jamie tries to save face by chuckling. “I would hope so. You know what they say about tanks and healers.”

Mako is glad that the mask hides his amused smirk. The adrenaline must be getting to Jamie’s head -- he knows where he’s going with this, but decides to play stupid anyway to attempt to fluster him.

“No, what do they say?”

Jamie’s smile vanishes. “Er...that they have, uh…” He gestures vaguely. “You know.”

“I don’t.”

Jamie winces. He really doesn’t want to follow through with this, but he dug his own hole at this point. May as well lay in it. “Sexual...tension.”

Amélie’s voice immediately rings through all of their comm units. “Fawkes. Please refrain from fraternizing during missions.”

Jack and Sombra chuckle and Jamie stares at the floor. He’s already flushed from working so hard, but even on top of that, he turns even redder.

“Sorry, captain. It won’t happen again,” he says, sounding so incredibly heartbroken that it actually causes Mako’s heart to sink a little with guilt. He wanted to fluster him a little bit, not embarrass him in front of the whole crew. In attempt to make up for it, he takes a half-sidestep closer to Jamie and puts his hand over an unarmored part of his hip. When Jamie looks up at him, he gives a simple nod to nonverbally tell him that it’s okay and the comment didn’t really bother him.

Jamie smiles.

After a beat, there’s a loud crash, causing the ground around them to shudder violently. Jamie, reflexively, holds out his hands and balls them up in fists to create protective barriers around his comrades as they go on high alert, keeping eyes scattered around the room. Office supplies scattered on tables and benches settle into new places, and everything goes silent.

“What was that?” Jack asks through the comms. Silence follows. “Captain Amélie, come in! Did you see what made that noise?”

More silence.

“Shit,” Jamie hisses. He should’ve been there for her--

Before he can finish that thought, a second crash, louder and more violent than the first, rocks the area. A second one immediately follows. A third breaks through the north-facing wall.

When the rubble settles, they can see a giant Omnic with a plow affixed to its front, tank treads for feet and a bulky frame. Two gatling guns are on each upper side of the plow and a single, glowing eye rotates to focus on each of them.

“A B4-11,” Sombra says.

“How did they get their hands on a siege class omnic?!”

It’s a fantastic question. It wasn’t included in any of their intel, which means that they’re woefully unarmed for this fight. The B4-11 lowers its plow to the ground and starts charging the group, but only by Jamie’s quick reflexes is he able to fling them out of the way, causing them only to suffer minor scrapes and bruises. He only has enough time to get Mako and the others out of the way before he finds himself sandwiched between now-scrapped server towers and an oversized plow. Through fortune alone he finds himself with just barely enough space between the wall behind him and the plow to barely breathe; the scoop on the underside of the plow is pressed firm as far as it can go and he’s pulled his legs in enough to avoid getting dismembered.

The B4-11, apparently frustrated that this isn’t killing the human, lifts the plow up. Jamie’s back scrapes against protruding metal and plastic, harmlessly off of his armored parts but digging into his flesh where there is nothing but fabric, causing blood to cascade down the ruined server racks.

Mako takes a half-step forward, but he can’t get as close as he needs to in order to heal Jamie or pull him out of the situation. The gatling gun closest to Mako rotates to point at him, and he freezes. Likewise, the others are stuck in place; they don’t want to waste ammo on armor they know it won’t pierce.

Jamie turns his head to spit the instinctive drool that filled his mouth from the pain. Thankfully, his arms are relatively free; he uses the opportunity to open a hidden compartment on his prosthetic, producing one small, presumably empty, glass vial with a cork stopper.

“Fawkes! No!” Mako shouts, the only one familiar enough with Jamie’s powers to be keyed in on what he’s about to do. 

Jamie, however, pays him no attention. “Ya know what I pity about you bots?” He waits, as if there would be a response. “You’ll never get to experience the joy that is playin' beer pong.”

With an unusual level of casual air, Jamie gently tosses the vial so that it bounces once on the upper portion of the B4-11’s chassis, then falls into a crack between armored plates. Jamie holds a fist up into the air, thumb extended. Mako backs up and braces himself with an arm.

“Hooroo,” Jamie chirps happily right before he presses his thumb into the edge of his closed fist, causing the vial within the B4-11 to explode. Despite being made of heavy armor, the Omnic breaks apart at the seams, scattering across the room with a high velocity. Thankfully, no one gets bowled over by any of the shrapnel.

Well...almost everyone.

Jamie is slumped forward over the still-intact plow, motionless. Mako curses under his breath and crawls over the rubble to get to him, using raw strength to pull the edge of the plow out a little further so that he can tugJamie out from it. His limp body immediately tells Mako that the ribs immediately over his heart have been crushed under the force of the explosion pressing the upper part of the plow against his chest.

Mako finds a clearing on the ground wide enough to lay Jamie down flat. He stands up and presses the rounded end of his Caduceus hook against Jamie’s sternum, but all that happens is a soft, rapid clicking sound that indicates an invalid target.

Mako curses louder. The other two come closer, but keep some distance.

“Doc…” Sombra says softly.

He kneels down beside Jamie, gingerly placing his staff on the ground. He takes a slow, evening breath, before reaching up and placing his fingers on the edge of his mask. With a slow lift, a golden, sparkling mist spreads from underneath, and he reveals his round jowls, speckled with salt and pepper stubble; thick lips with various surgical scars cutting through them, all of different ages.

As he breathes out, the golden mist is exhaled, drifting in the still air for several seconds, disturbed by even the slightest current caused by the other operatives or Mako himself. He reaches out to Jamie and places his hands on both sides of his face, stabilizing it as he leans in and places his mouth on Jamie’s, gently breathing into still lungs.

Both Sombra and Jack wince as the sound of crunching bones echoes through the room as they mend themselves at an inhuman rate. As it stops, Mako continues to breathe in and out to circulate the mist into Jamie’s lungs.

“Doc,” Sombra says louder, grimacing. “I don’t think it’s going to work this time.”

Mako lifts his head and scowls at her. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he growls.

As he goes back down to administer to Jamie once again, their comms crackle to life.

“Sorry everyone, I ended up with some unexpected company. What happened? Is everyone alright?”

“No,” Jack says. “Fawkes is down.”

“Okay. How much longer on the data download?”

“Eighty-nine percent and counting,” Sombra responds.

“Stabilize Fawkes and head out as soon as it’s done. The area is secure for now, but there could be more on the way.”

“Rodger,” Jack says.

Sombra sighs softly; apparently Amelie has more faith in Mako’s supe than she does. She turns to the computer console to give herself something to do other than watch Mako’s futile attempts to resurrect the newbie. Jack stands guard and alert.

The download finishes and Sombra pulls her tech off of the computer and stuffs it back into the compartments on her suit. “We’re done here,” she commands, and turns to see Mako still breathing into Jamie, a now thick cloud of mist surrounding both of them.

“Let’s pick him up and go,” she says, as gently as possible. “You can try again when we’re somewhere saf--”

At that precise moment, Jamie springs back to life, sitting forward with a gasp. Mako sits up, and as he calmly slides his mask over his face, Jamie turns to the side and coughs up an unpleasant combination of blood and drool.

“Fawkes is back up,” Mako says nonchalantly, while Sombra and Jack stare with dumbfounded looks. Once Jamie is breathing again, Mako takes up his staff again and presses it against Jamie’s shoulder, allowing the wounds on his back to heal.

“You’re still in the clear,” the Captain instructs.

“Can you walk?” Mako asks.

“I...I dunno,” Jamie responds, and places a hand on Mako’s shoulder so he can use him to stand up. After a few shaky seconds on his feet, he manages to get a stable stance. Mako follows.

“I’ll be good, I think,” Jamie says, and the group of four manage to make their way back out of the compound without trouble.

Life on the Valeguard ship doesn’t change when they return. It was a standard mission, technically speaking, but it was still Jamie’s first.

As Mako and Jamie sit together at their usual spot for dinner, Mako immediately notices that Jamie is near silent, carrying a downtrodden air about him. Maybe he’s feeling blue because he feels like he failed or dropped the ball because of what happened to him, when -- all things considered -- it was an unusually tough mission for someone still green.

“Great work today,” Mako says.

For what it’s worth, it gets him out of his head a little bit, even if it doesn’t lift his spirits. “Oh. Uh...thanks.”

Might as well get to the heart of the issue. “Jamie,” Mako says, “are you okay?”

Jamie looks up from his food to Mako. “I mean, I guess...it’s just, something feels off.”

“How so?”

“I didn’t just lose consciousness in the computer room, did I?” he asks. “I...I died, didn’t I?”

Calmly, Mako responds, “Yeah. But I brought you back.”

“I thought so,” Jamie says, looking back down at his food and pushing it around with his fork.

There’s a long pause before Mako speaks up. “I’m not trained in psychology, but do you want to talk about it?”

“Naaah,” he says, faking a smile. “I’m not really scared of death or anythin’, it’s just...I can’t believe that’s what it took ta get ya ta kiss me.”

Mako is stunned into silence. All this time, he really  _ was _ fraternizing, wasn’t he? It wasn’t just some playful camaraderie. And it’s not like Mako really helped dissuade it either, what with hand-feeding him and spending free time with him.

“I wasn’t kissing you,” he corrects. “I was resuscitating you.”

Jamie freezes in his spot, stares wide-eyed at Mako, then slouches with realization. “S-sorry, I--”

“ _ I  _ can’t believe you tried  _ dying _ to get a kiss before just  _ asking _ for one.”

Jamie stares, then lights up as the realization, as if he hadn’t been dragging just a second ago. 

“Then, in that case, will you kiss me?”

“Lean forward.”

Jamie is more than happy to do as instructed, half-standing to crane his long body over the cafeteria table. Mako, in the meantime, shifts his mask up just enough to reveal his mouth, smiling as Jamie comes closer to get that kiss.

Jamie nearly feels like kicking himself when they touch. He really was just resuscitating him earlier -- this, the way his thick lips wrap around his own, massive enough to give Jamie’s face-splitting smirk a run for its money, is a  _ real _ kiss.

As he pulls back to sit in his chair again, Mako pulls his mask back down.

“I’m sorry for my misunderstanding,” Jamie says, all smiles.

“It’s fine,” Mako reassures. “Maybe later tonight, I can help you study the difference between them.”

Jamie’s grin widens. “I’d love to!”

 


End file.
